


Who is Alison?

by WallflowerBitca



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Drug Use, F/F, Gen, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 20:10:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2824652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WallflowerBitca/pseuds/WallflowerBitca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was Alison.<br/>Not a clone not a copy not a fake.<br/>Alison.</p>
<p>Wherein we see why Alison has her substance abuse problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who is Alison?

**Author's Note:**

> Beth and Alison went to high school together. They’d always had people say weird things to them because they look the same. They know about the Clones. They don’t use the C word. This is just a fic where we see the evolution of Alison.

“You know what’d be really freaking funny?” Beth appeared behind me, drink in hand, a devilish grin on her face, “if we switched outfits right now. No one would know. You could be me for a night!”

I gasped, “Beth! You have a, a…” I glanced around, “a _boyfriend!_ ”

“Jeeze Al, it isn’t a curse word. Yeah I have a boyfriend.”

“But if we switch he might _kiss_ me!” I felt my cheeks reddening. That was the only difference between Beth and I. When I got embarrassed, my cheeks flushed. She says it’s because the people who made us effed up our genome. I think it’s just that she never gets embarrassed.

“Let me tell you, when it comes to Rob, him kissing you is the least of your worries. C’mon.” She grabbed my hand and dragged me to the back of the garden, already stripping off. She wasn’t wearing a bra. I averted my eyes quickly, flushed again.

“Oh snap out of it Al,” Beth laughed, chucking her dress at me. “They’re the same as yours.”

_Just like every other part of me, right? Except my personality, right?_ I clutched her dress to my chest. _Maybe if I was Beth for a night, just maybe, I wouldn’t have to be Alison ever again…_

Beth gave a little twirl in the shroud of the trees. “Now give over, I’m freezing my tits off.”

 

I sighed, disrobing quickly and passing her my clothes. Hers fit me perfectly, the creases in the tight dress moulded perfectly to the lines of my waist and hips. I needn’t adjust it, twist it or stretch it – the dress was already perfect. It was like I’d worn it a dozen times before.

“Jesus Alison,” she groaned, plucking at my boxy pink dress, “this is fucking hideous.”

_See, Cosima, I told you that we’re not all exactly the same._

“You’re the one who wanted to swap,” I pointed out, and flounced off in her binding, second-skin of a dress, secretly feeling a soft, sexy thrill in my belly as half a dozen eyes fell on me instantly. Pulling her hair back, Beth emerged slowly, watching me find my footing in her platform shoes. I turned and looked back at her, shocked at how different it felt to truly be someone else. Even just for a little while. Beth’s skin was more forgiving than my own.

 

“Beth,” Tracey grabbed my arm, “want a drink?”   
My eyes widened, I’d never… I hadn’t… drink? But that’s what Beth did, wasn’t it? She’d drink until she was stumbling in her heels and I had to hold her arm all the way home. She’d not hide away from the things everyone else did, just because it wasn’t “right”.  
I took a deep breath. “Sure, Tracey,” I replied, realising that without even trying I’d adopted Beth’s lilt in my voice. I took the red plastic cup and sniffed the pungent liquid, it was sweet, but with sour-bitter undertones… I took a tentative sip, sweet, cool and refreshing – it was orange juice? But then the burn at the back of my throat and the tang on my tongue…  
“Vodka orange, good choice,” Beth stood behind me, nursing a can of diet coke.  
“What would you know about alcohol, _Alison_ ,” I intoned. And I downed the cup in two gulps.

_I’m a horrible person, I’m a horrible person. Stupid Alison, so much less interesting than her sisters… just Alison…_ And down went another three shots. _They’re for the stupid suburban girl, who even her effing CLONE thinks is too much of a prude._ A fourth. _For Cosima’s weed and Beth’s bitter drinks._ _For all the things they say to me…_ A fifth…

 

The night sort of disappeared after that. I know there was dancing. And a lot more of the tangy-bitter orange concoction. Beth stopped drinking when I started. It was late, well, actually it was very early in the morning when I felt Beth’s hand in mine. My tongue was currently implanted in her boyfriend’s mouth, his hand on my ass and a drink next to my feet. She looped her fingers through mine, and gave me a tug. I surfaced with a plunger-like noise as Rob released my tongue.  
“Jeeze Al, kinda busy,” he grumbled, pulling me in closer.  
“Beth is done for the night,” she said quite seriously.

Drunk enough not to care, Rob just shrugged, releasing me dispassionately.

 

“You doing okay Al?” Beth asked, pulling her hair out of the sleek ponytail and letting it tumble in loose curtains around her face again.

“I’m better than ever!” I slurred, stumbling against her. She tutted, sitting me down on the sidewalk. She untucked my bangs from the headband I wore and let them flop back over my forehead. The little fringe of hair in front of my eyes acted like a bucket of ice water. I sat bolt upright, and looked at Beth, still crouching in front of me in my little pink, shapeless dress.  
“Oh goodness,” I breathed, my vision multiplying. I was looking at two of me, then three of me then four… Beth, clearly uncomfortable in my dress, sat down and put her hands on my knees.

“Want me to take you home, love?”

_Home, suburbs, where I’m me not Beth, me not Beth._

“Please…” I murmured, stumbling as Beth pulled me to my feet. I slipped out of her heels and carried them. All of a sudden I felt like Bambi, I couldn’t stand without wobbling. Beth hooked her arm securely through mine.  
“It takes some getting used to, Al.”

 

The next morning I woke up in my own bed. I was wearing button up paisley pyjamas. My head felt heavy and fuzzy. There was a bottle of Advil next to my bed, and a glass of water. I downed two tablets and drooped back onto my pillow. _This isn’t who Alison is supposed to be._

By the time I woke again, there was sunlight streaming through my window and making my prism sparkle, painting my walls with rainbows. This time my head wasn’t just fuzzy, it was throbbing. I grabbed another handful of pills, not even counting, and dragged myself out of bed. When I reached the kitchen I realised that I was alone in the house, my parents had gone shopping and left a note for me on the counter. Thank God. I couldn’t handle the yelling between them when I had a headache like this.

I opened the freezer, looking for some ice to put in my orange juice, when I saw a chilled bottle of vodka. Maybe just a little…? I poured a slurp into my glass and choked it down, not tasting it.  
  
By midday half the bottle was gone. And my head wasn’t fuzzy. It was buzzing, everything was clear but numb… I didn’t have to think about my parent’s latest shouting match in the living room because I was _flying_. I was a wonderful bird on the wind, helicopter in the sky, I wasn’t stupid, tethered-to-the-ground suburban Alison… I spun around and around in circles, giddy and happy until I collapsed on the shag-pile carpeting. It made a soft cocoon around my ears. Maybe if I lay here long enough, I’d just disappear…  
“ALISON!”  
Couldn’t hear couldn’t hear la la la I couldn’t hear my mother with my ice-blooded little friend warming my veins, not when I was so warm with the icy liquor…

“ALISON! Beth is here!”

My bedroom door opened and I looked up blearily, Beth peered down at me, amused.  
“So still feeling the aftereffects of last night? I thought you’d be able to hold your liquor as well as me. Maybe it’s a tolerance thing.”

I laughed, struggling to my knees. Grabbing Beth’s hands, I pulled her down in front of me.   
“Beth,” I whispered, “I’m not _still_ drunk, I’m drunk _again_!”

“And here’s me thinking I couldn’t even influence you to loosen up a _little_ ,” Beth shook her head. “Midday on Sunday is not the time to be drinking.”

“It’s allllways the time to be drinking,” I laughed.

“Gotta admit,” Beth shook her head, “This is _not_ what I was expecting.”

_Of course it wasn’t. Remember? I’m just Alison._

The next year was… what can I say? My mother’s unused bottle of valium had found a place in my book bag, and Beth’s fake ID spent more time in my purse than in hers. We spent less time together, but it didn’t matter. _Ice-blood, warm little friend, sweet little pills, we don’t need Beth…_

 

And I didn’t. I didn’t need her clothes hugging my skin anymore, because I was me. Freebird, not Cagebird, Alison not Beth… Alison isn’t Beth and Alison isn’t Cosima, she’s none of them none of them because she’s her, sweet Al from the suburbs, pretty Al, pink Al, quiet Al, sensible Al, going-to-college-getting-married-having-babies Al, Alison Hendrix. The pink and the plaid, the soft and the neat.

 

With pills in my pocket, and tiny bottles hidden in my drawers.

 

I was Alison.

Not a clone not a copy not a fake.

 

And no one really knew who I was at all.

 


End file.
